The Reason
by FemaleShank
Summary: *One Shot* When Jorge leads Thomas away for a "talk", Newt isn't so sure the Gladers will make it out of there alive. Meaning to do so for a long time, he decides to finally tell Minho something burning on his mind. But how does one find the right words so quickly? *My first attempt at FanFiction based on solely canon characters, and my first TMR story.*


Newt watched as Thomas disappeared down the dark hallway with Jorge, wondering if he would ever see his friend again. Sure, Thomas was smart, but who knew what could happen in a place like this? By the face Jorge had made before leaving, Thomas had better thought about what he was going to say.

Since most of the Gladers had sat down around the back of the wall by now, he gingerly edged over and sat down next to Minho, ever careful of the menacing blades the Cranks were pointing at them. Their insane eyes bore a light that was sharper than their knives and machetes- these Cranks weren't even past the Gone, he guessed that they were only newly infected, yet there was no doubt of how inhuman they already appeared. There was no question as to whether if him and the Gladers would look like that before long, it was just a matter of how long it would be before they did. Even that was only if they made it out of this Crank-infested shack alive.

He turned to look at their leader when he heard him groan. Minho's burned leg looked even worse after the beating he had just taken from Jorge, and his entire body was bloody and battered. Newt's body felt bad enough, but he couldn't imagine handling the pain Minho must be experiencing. WICKED may have been hated by the Gladers for many reasons, but Minho was a leader chosen well. He was probably the most stubborn shank any of them knew, but he knew what had to be done, and didn't let anything get in the way until that was accomplished. Being the leader was a heavy job, that definitely needed acknowledgment, and Minho didn't get the deserved credit in Newt's mind. It probably wasn't the most appropriate of times to say so, but if this was possibly amongst their last hours being alive, so be it.

Minho gave him an annoyed, questioning glance, so he decided to go for it.  
"Well this is a fine bloody mess you've gotten us into." Probably wasn't the best way to start.  
"You wanna try being the leader slinthead? Or how about you try getting fried sunny-side up by lightning? Maybe throw a punch to a shuck-faced Crank yourself?" Minho looked around, making sure the carnivorous people around him were paying no mind to them.  
"No. No, I don't want to try being the buggin' leader. And I don't think anybody could do as good a job of it as you do, either." He gave his head a quick nod, so as to make sure Minho knew he was serious about what he was saying.

The boy narrowed his almond-shaped eyes at Newt. "Yeah, what do you want shuck? Extra canned food?"  
"I'm serious man", Newt replied. "We wouldn't have gotten this far without you. None of us would have."  
Minho looked down at the burn on his leg, a tinge of sadness in his eyes. "Yeah, those of us who are still alive."  
Images of their friends being zapped alive, and the recurring screams of those who succumbed to the metal balls in the darkness rung throughout Newt's brain. He slightly shook his blonde head to make them go away, but he knew those memories would linger in his subconscious for all eternity.  
"Yeah, well guess what- none of what happened is your fault. You did your best to lead us, and made the best choices you could come up with given the circumstances along the way. We all mess up. I'm walking proof of that." Maybe that was an overstatement. He looked down at his leg, which he now limped with. He couldn't bring himself to tell Minho exactly how that had happened...he just couldn't.  
"Look Minho. What I'm trying to say is, since Alby...since then, if it wasn't for you, there'd literally be nothing. I wouldn't be able to bloody take it. Just- in case Thomas screws us all- thanks. Thanks for being the best leader, and the greatest friend I could ever ask for. For being my only reason to live." He knew he probably sounded sappy, but some things needed to be said.

Minho rubbed his eyes with two fingers, and sighed.  
"Don't go losin' your klunk so quickly, shank. Thomas is half-intelligent, most of the time. He's not going to say anything to get you all fried for these Cranks' dinner tonight. The worst that could happen is if Jorge has a death wish, and intends to cook me solo. But do you really think I'm gonna let that happen?" Despite his pain, he gave Newt one of his signature smirks. "But," his face quickly turned serious, "Thanks Newt. Thank-you for keeping things together. For being the glue. And we're gonna get out of here, together." He forcefully put out his hand towards Newt, which he grasped with equal strength.

"Good that." Newt gave Minho a small smile. Right then, they both knew they'd do whatever it took to get themselves, and the rest of the Gladers out alive.


End file.
